


A Heavy Burden to Bear

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angst, BDSM, Drama, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 04, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-12
Updated: 2011-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8707729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Written for the prompt Illusion of Control by reapertownusa. John escapes hell but the state in which he finds his sons provides him with an all new type of torture.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

_It started with me going to Hell. When I was first dragged into the pit, I thought I’d found out what suffering was. Skin and muscle peeled from bone, fingers chewed off, eaten, and then re-grown; eyes plucked from their sockets, liquid fire poured into my broken open chest, entrails stuffed with broken glass and shoved back in._

_I never gave in._

_I thought it was all over, I thought the torture was finished when I clawed my way out of Hell that night. I was so proud of my boys for taking down Azazel at long last, felt relief and pride and love for my boys and my Mary grow to blinding heights. And then I was nothing. Or, I thought I was._

_A month shy of a year since Dean fired that shot that avenged Mary, avenged me and the lives my boys had sacrificed, and I was suddenly aware again, trailing after my boys, unable to go anywhere else, tethered to them. Horror filled me when I realized that my little boy, my Dean, had taken a page from my book and sold himself to save little Sammy. God, even the tortures of Hell were nothing compared to watching them scramble and search, looking for a loophole, only to fail time and again._

_Hell had nothing on watching the hounds come and rip Dean’s soul from his body, the screams of my youngest, and then being left with no way to comfort little Sammy as he tried to self-destruct, lost and alone._

_I thought I had suffered in Hell, suffered watching my eldest son die and watching my youngest try to kill himself, but I was wrong. Nothing on Earth or in Hell had ever prepared me for the horrors I was about to witness, wrapped in a blessing and hand delivered by an angel of heaven._

_Oh God, please, save my boys._

 

~*~

 

A silent scream tore at Dean’s throat, choked and suppressed by an agony that truly had no description. Alistair smiled, teeth stained red with blood, and dragged the knife slowly across Dean’s belly, cutting deeply, and then up his chest before the demon pulled back again. Blood poured from the wounds but Dean wouldn't die. He never died, couldn’t. The demon leaned even closer, fetid breath and razor sharp teeth inches from Dean’s face. "Let’s see what else I can find to play with, hey Dean?" he hissed. 

 

This was hell, day in and day out, or what Dean figured a day in hell amounted to because there wasn’t a break taken between tortures, no gaps in the ever consuming pain. It could’ve been a day, could’ve been a lifetime; everything was pain and agony and fear and hopelessness because it would never stop: even if he climbed down off the rack, it would continue. Eons could fly by in the blink of an eye, and a minute could drag into eternity. 

 

But after a while the pain blended everything together; the screams of the other souls around him used to grab his attention, give him something to focus on other than the horror he was dealing with, but it faded down into background noise, undistinguishable from the sound of his own flesh rending and bones boiling, snapping only to mend for another round. But, even the mending of his body, his soul wasn’t without pain.

 

Hands ripping at his guts, slicing them open, tugging the long cords of intestines out, yanking them from their anchors, and then slowly slithering up from the floor, reattaching, seaming together, coiling up properly in his gut, and then the skin mending, burning as though cauterized, but the skin was smooth, unmarked. 

 

“Let’s see how long it takes your skull to repair itself, eh?” Alistair cooed, sickeningly sweet, and then the blade, dripping with Dean’s blood, started peeling the skin from his face.

 

Dean jerked and cried out, soaked with sweat and his hands twisting hard and painfully into the blanket under him as the dream consumed him further, pulling him down deeper into the dark memories of hell.

 

The door closed quietly behind Sam as he crept back into the motel room, and he stared at his writhing brother for a long moment before moving quickly to his own bed and tossing the blankets around, pressing a hand into the pillow to make it look as though his head had rested there. Sam stripped his clothes off, down to undershirt and boxers, and then went to his brother’s side.

 

In an odd way, Dean was beautiful when he was suffering, more so than when he was happy. Dean’s strong jaw tightened, flexed, and the corded muscles that rippled under his skin stood out in sharp relief. Sweat made Dean’s skin shine in the dim light peeking through the blackout curtains, giving him an almost ethereal glow. Yes, Dean was far more beautiful when he suffered. Sam took a moment to just drink in that beauty. 

 

“Dean,” Sam murmured, a hand clamped to his brother’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Dean, wake up, man. You’re dreaming. Dean? Dean.”

 

Dean jerked again, this time his eyes flew open and he shoved the hand on him away roughly, confused for a moment about where he was. He looked around and blinked several times. He rubbed his face and eyes, finally took in his brother. It was a nightmare: he'd been having those since he’d gotten back. "Sammy?" he mumbled as he pushed himself up to sit.

 

“You were moaning in your sleep, dude. I told you that too much porn would rot your brain,” Sam teased, willing to overlook the real issue at the moment. Dean had shut him down hard every single time he’d tried to bring up whatever it was that had him thrashing every night.

 

Dean laughed roughly, passing it off as sleepiness in his voice, and his features slipped back into his normal, semi-well-put-together expression. "Yeah well, I was thinking about that chick from the bar, you know the one you cock-blocked me on?"

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “I was halfway across the bar, Dean. You cock-blocked yourself.” He straightened and stepped back, dropping down onto the side of his own bed. He eyed his brother in silence for a long moment, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

 

"I doubt it." Dean rolled his eyes and moved to sit up, stretching, and then moved to the bathroom. It wasn't morning yet but he wasn't going back to sleep for the rest of the night. He’d gotten three or four whole hours of sleep. The only problems now were finding something to do until he could drag Sam's ass out of bed to leave the next morning and the ever encroaching exhaustion.

 

While Dean was busy in the bathroom, Sam settled back on the bed, arms folded behind his head. He was tired and worn from the hours he’d spent with Ruby, training to use the freaky powers that had gotten worse after Dean had killed Azazel. But, he and his big brother were going to have a conversation whether Dean liked it or not.

 

When Dean came out of the bathroom, he moved back to his bed and grabbed his jeans, pulling them on. "I'm going out, I'll be back," he said as he looked over at Sam. There was no reason to try and sleep and certainly no use staying around here and having Sam try to make him talk. Sam was different: he hunted more like Dean used to than the Sam he knew before hell. Not that Dean paid much attention now – he had other shit on his mind.

 

“Wait a minute, Dean. I’ve… I’ve got a proposition for you,” Sam said, pushing himself upright, ready to get off of the bed and force Dean to stay should he try to bolt.

 

Dean made a confused face as he pulled his boots on. "What, a threesome with the blond and the red head from the bar?" 

 

“More like I know a way to make the nightmares stop. Permanently.” Sam lay back against the headboard again, satisfied that he’d gotten Dean’s attention.

 

Dean shook his head. There wasn't anything that was going to stop it and there wasn't anything that was going to change the past. He would rather be out drinking than sitting here and talking about it. At least when he drank, he slept one way or another. "Sam, don't waste your time; I'm fine."

 

“I didn’t say I was looking for something, Dean. I said I know how to make them go away. It’s a neat little spell that I found while I was looking up some lore.” Sam folded his arms behind his head, grinning smugly at his brother. “Actually, I wish I’d found it before you went to hell, because it could’ve canceled out the deal.”

 

Sighing, Dean shook his head. "A spell, seriously?" he asked tiredly but he stopped and studied Sam a minute. "Nothing that's going to cancel out a demon's deal is going to neat and simple." Dean wasn't stupid, he didn't hold out for hope, now more than ever.

 

“But, that’s just it; it is that simple.” Sam grinned wide, tinged with just the slightest hint of malice. “It’s a binding spell, actually. It’ll bind your memories of hell in the back of your mind and make it impossible for you to access them, even when you’re sleeping. The only catch is that you’ll be bound to me, as well. But, we’re already always together, always going to be together, so I don’t think it’s a bad thing.”

 

"That sounds sort of creepy, Sam." Dean frowned. "I mean, binding spells mean ‘together forever’ and I don't know about you but I sort of need my space. What would it mean exactly? When you say I'd be bound to you?" he asked. If anyone, he trusted his brother: it wasn't like Sam was going to put them in danger. Of the two of them, Sam was the careful one.

 

“It means that our souls would mix and change so that they’d have pieces of both of us. You’d be mine…and, of course, I’d be yours, too.” Sam grimaced just slightly, barely there and then gone, almost as though it hadn’t even happened. “As far as I know, and I’ve done a lot of research on this, we’d be able to find each other if we got separated and know if one or the other was in danger. Seems to me like it would be an asset to have, and the perk to it would be that you’d finally get some fucking sleep for a change.”

 

Dean cocked his head and studied Sam for a moment. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. It sounded like some kind of ownership shit going on and that was… really fucked up. They were together all the time as it was, but this was different. "Some of it might be helpful but this is being locked together, not able to get away from each other, ever.” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, thoughtful, but kept his opinion to himself. It was appealing, in all honesty, but in the pit of his stomach he felt like he was wrong to agree. "I can’t use you to get a good night’s sleep, Sam. It isn't fair to you." 

 

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, pushing himself upright again, arms draped over his upraised knees. “Dude, you went to hell for me, the least I can do is stick around and help you. I researched this, thoroughly, and if I wasn’t willing to be with you forever, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

 

Dean flushed and then sat down. "Christ, Sam, you're not asking me to be your husband or some weird shit. If we did do this, what would we have to do and is there any way to undo it afterwards?"

 

“What part of ‘merging our souls’ sounds temporary?” Sam asked, staring at his brother like he was an idiot.

 

"Bite me," Dean snapped back. 

 

Sam rolled his eyes again and shook his head at Dean. “The spell is relatively simple. We’ve got all but one of the ingredients and we’ll have to get our hands on a specific idol, but it’s not too hard to get hold of.”

 

"There's got to be a down side to this, though." Dean thought for a moment and then looked over at Sam suspiciously. "Is there something you aren't telling me? And what is it we need to find?" he added.

 

A smile tugged at Sam’s lips and he huffed softly. “You know that husband crack you made? That’s kind of what it would technically make us, but it doesn’t create feelings or anything like that, just allows what’s already there to be felt between the pair. Since we’re brothers, though, all it’ll do is let you feel how badly I want to keep you safe and stay with you, and the same goes for me.”

 

Dean's mouth fell open but he closed it again. If there was anyone he could stand to do this with it was his brother, and to forget hell…. Christ knew he would do almost anything for that! He frowned but relaxed again. "So, I'll still be able to fuck around with whoever I want?" he joked. There was something else, nagging in the back of his head, but like anything that made him uncomfortable he ignored it. "What do we have to do?" 

 

Sam’s smile grew and spread wide over his mouth, dimpling his cheeks deeply. He looked all of ten years old with that smile, and it was quite possible that had been how old he’d been the last time it had been directed at Dean. “We’ll have to go out into the desert and mark off a pretty big area; specific runes, protection sigils, and candles, and then spread the salt, cardamom, cinnamon, and hibiscus roots at the four cardinal points, light clove incense on either side of the idol, and speak the spell.”

 

Dean nodded. "Sounds like fun." He leaned back a little and cleared his throat. "Alright, well, now that that's all settled, I'm going out for a beer," he said, getting up and grabbing his keys.

 

“I’ll be here. If you get cock-blocked again, though, don’t you dare blame it on me. I can’t cock-block you from a mile away. Even I’m not that good,” Sam teased, apparently more than happy to let it go that Dean was leaving in the middle of the night—again. “And, if you’re actually lucky, don’t even think about bringing her back here, dude. I’m not going to get up and go sleep in the car so that you can have naked happy fun times with some random woman.”

 

"Yeah, well, there's always the backseat of the car," Dean teased as he grabbed his jacket and headed out. He got in the car and headed to the closest bar.

 

~*~

 

_I watched the door close behind Dean, unable to follow and sort of unwilling to. Since Dean went to hell—no, since that she-demon dug her claws into Sammy—he’s been different. Sometimes, I wasn’t able to follow them, other times I wished I could get the hell away from them._

_Watching Sam fuck that evil bitch and then work on improving the powers that Azazel’s blood gave my boy… sometimes I wished for hell again, just to go back to something familiar and relatively safe. I can deal with pain, can handle being tortured, but I can’t handle seeing my little boy start down the darkest road imaginable._

_Now, knowing that Sam has been out with that devil bitch, and then Sam offered to bind Dean to himself? Something isn’t right, but Dean is so broken that he can’t see it, can’t imagine sweet little Sammy manipulating him. The worst part is that there is nothing I can do. I screamed myself hoarse, begged and pleaded for Dean to say no, to realize that there was something wrong with Sam, but neither of them heard me._

_Dear God, what does Sam have in mind?_

 

~*~

 

Dean parked the car around back and looked around for a second. "Are you sure about this? I mean, this kind of thing is seriously going to be sitting around grandma's house? Place looks like something out of TV Land," he said, rolling his eyes as he pushed his door open and got out of the car. He was a little on edge: he didn't know why his father had been on his mind since the night before and he couldn't shake it. Fucking creepy really. 

 

The idol that Sam claimed they needed for this spell was here, or so Sam’s research had led them to believe. He pressed his lips together and reached in the back for his gun, just in case. Wasn't like it could hurt, right? 

 

It was black as pitch outside—new moon—and Sam made an extra effort to stay quiet when he closed his door, despite Dean slamming his own. It was the principle of the matter. He had holy water and salt with him, just in case, but had refrained from bringing a gun. Dean had his and that was enough firepower for an eighty year old lady.

 

Sam led the way across the street and around to the back door since it was less likely that someone would notice him picking the lock, and set to work. The lock was almost embarrassingly easy to open, and the door swung on nearly silent hinges. Seemed that granny had a son or grandson that took care of the maintenance of the place—which just made breaking in even easier.

 

Dean sighed and kept a lookout as Sam picked the lock. This place almost made him sick; it was so not their type of place. At least not the type of house they would normally break into. He hoped that this was in and out. It was stealing an idol from some little old lady and it wasn't like she was going to put up much of a fight, right?

 

He bit his bottom lip and turned as he followed Sam into the house. "Alright, so you check down here and I'll check upstairs?" Dean whispered once they were past the kitchen and towards the living room. Sam explained what they were looking for but they hadn't been here before so who the fuck knew where it would be? Normally the living room or bedrooms, he guessed, and he was hoping for the first over the second.

 

“Yeah, take the upstairs and I’ll hit up this floor. Be quiet, please? I don’t know if she’s deaf or not, and I’d really like to not have to run from the cops.” Sam slunk past Dean and out into the hallway leading between the kitchen and the living room without waiting for a reply from his brother. 

 

Sam took pains to be extra quiet while he searched for the idol, his flashlight cutting a swath of yellow light over the creepy, old lady décor in the living room. The article he’d read had a grainy picture of the idol, but he was still fairly sure he’d recognize it; short little fat man with a giant penis—not that hard to spot.

 

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. He turned his flashlight on and found the stairs. He looked around, keeping his mouth shut, and headed up. He could only be so quiet on hard wood floors, though. His boots squeaked against each one and the third one creaked like a bitch. As he reached the second floor, he found the guest bedroom first and let himself in. Moving around, he found little knickknacks all over the place but no little man. There was some kind of a poodle and an ugly freaking lamp which he just bypassed.

 

Soft steps on the stairs a few minutes later alerted Dean to someone approaching, and the muted beam of the flashlight was the only warning he got that it was Sam before the big doofus stepped into the room. “Found it. She had it sitting right on the mantle next to a wedding picture of two really… uh, two guys.” He wagged the statue at Dean, gripping the thing by the dick rather than around the enormous belly.

 

Dean nodded his head, seeing the ugly little thing in Sam's hand. "To each his own," he mumbled as he moved to join Sam again. "Let's get the hell out of here, then." He switched the flashlight off and looked at the statue. 

 

Betty heard someone on her stairs but she ignored it. Then she could have sworn she heard whispers in her hallway. She would have called someone but the phone was downstairs. Her son had been after her to add a second line, and now she began to see the logic behind that. Could it be one of her boys home? She didn't think so: they always called. She opened her bedroom door and peered out a moment. No one would come here to harm her, she was sure, but she grabbed the umbrella from behind her door. It worked as good as a weapon as anything else.

 

Sam stepped backward out of the room and caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. He spun to face it, flashlight up to get a good look, and found himself facing off against a really old woman in a nightgown. He panicked and darted back into the room, grabbing Dean’s wrist. “We gotta go!” he hissed and then headed back out into the hallway.

 

The woman heard one of the men and screamed, taking a shot with the umbrella. She swung it at his head as she moved from her bedroom. "Get the hell out of my house!" she yelled, not actually making contact with the young man's head like she wanted to. 

 

Dean's eyes widened a little as he reached for his gun, not yet knowing it was just the little old woman. "Alright go," he yelled, trying to get through the doorway.

 

Sam glanced at his brother and then at the woman and made a decision. He raced forward and slammed the grip of the flashlight into the base of her neck just below the jaw, jarring the nerve and sending a shock to her brain which made her pass out. Sam caught her and eased her down to the floor, looking back at Dean worriedly for a brief moment, and then hurrying to the top of the stairs and down, statue clutched in his other hand.

 

Sam was never the type to attack unless he had to and this was an old woman. Shock passed over Dean's face a moment. "Sam!" Dean snapped. "What the hell?" He moved over to the woman only to find that she was breathing and didn't seem to have a mark on her. He licked his lips and looked her over a second. She may have been down for the count but she seemed fine otherwise. Getting up, he shook his head and moved to follow his brother down the steps. Chances were someone had heard the screams.

 

The backdoor swung back and tapped the wall behind it as Sam rushed through. He stopped in the yard, however, unwilling to just ditch Dean should the cops show up. He waited impatiently, tucking the idol into his jacket pocket, though the penis poked out and the bulge in the fabric made it more than obvious that he had something tucked in there.

 

He was still at a loss about the hit that Sam had given the owner of the house, but that wasn't important just then. Dean was just behind his brother and ran out the door at a fast clip. They both hurried to the car. Opening the driver's side, he jumped in after looking around for a quick second. No cop cars yet but that didn't mean anything. He waited a second to make sure Sam was in before peeling out of there.

 

“Well, now we’ve got the idol and I’ve got the herbs in the trunk and the spell photocopied on my laptop. How about we hit the desert now?” Sam asked, tugging the idol out of his pocket and setting it on the seat between himself and his brother.

 

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded his head. "Yeah, fine," he answered, more interested in just getting them out of there as fast as possible. "Going to be about a day's drive from here," he continued after a few minutes of driving, just before he headed for the closest highway. "Sam, I've never actually seen you bean an old woman before."

 

Sam winced at that and bit his lip, looking over at Dean with an almost exaggerated expression of regret. “I know, I panicked. She screamed and I just knew someone heard and that the cops were coming. We’re both wanted by the FBI and a town that big would’ve run us through the federal database and we’d never have gotten out.”

 

Dean's frown deepened because Sam getting spooked? "Oh come on, Dad taught you better than that." He shook his head, looking back at the dark road. He wasn't sure why he’d put it that way, though it felt right. He cleared his throat and moved into the right lane for a while. They’d head right out of the state as long as no cops tried to follow. Dean could outrun them although he would rather not have to if they did.

 

“Yeah, but our opponents were always things that could kill us, not nice little old ladies in their nightgowns who picked an umbrella as a weapon. It freaked me out, man.”

 

Sam sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair, leaning back further in his seat. “When she swung, I was expecting a demon or a creature of some kind and ended up with four-foot-tall grandma with curlers in her hair and green goop on her face and wielding an umbrella. You’ve never just reacted when you were startled before?”

 

Dean shrugged and licked his lips. He knew that Sam had looked from the woman and back at him before attacking her. Even if it was just a second but fine his brother fucked up, it happened. It just was really bad when it did. "Alright fine, just asking," he grumbled and settled back.

 

~*~

 

_I think I’m finally getting through to them, but only a little bit. Dean repeated what I’d said about having taught he and Sam better than to get spooked on a hunt, but very little of what I say gets through. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m getting through or if it’s just wishful thinking._

_I’d be hopeful about the spell if it weren’t for the fact that I can see how wrong Sammy is. Dean can’t see it yet, and I’m afraid that he won’t see it until it’s too late._

_God, please, don’t let this happen._

 

~*~

 

 

Dean's body was tense: spells weren't new to them but this he could honestly say he was uncomfortable with. He trusted Sam, but to tie himself to Sam was asking a lot of both of their parts. He wasn't really sure why to bind his memories he had to twist his soul with Sam's. Sam had said something about binding their memories together which would suppress the bad ones and Dean was fairly sure it made sense but witchcraft and shit didn’t sit well with him. 

 

He sat back on his heels, his neck craned a little, as he tried to ease the tension out. His shirt was off to the side in the sand and he looked at Sam as he spoke. Dean could understand some of what Sam was saying but he wasn't fully familiar with this spell and some of the terminology used in it. 

 

It was early morning—they had driven all night and he wanted to get this over with just so he could find a motel and sleep—and he had only gotten three hours the night before. If this worked, Dean promised himself he was going to sleep for a fucking week.

 

“Dark lux candida, vita ista me teneri. Sicut ego volo. Cruor teneri corda, vitam animae teneatur dare imperium mihi. Sicut ego volo, sic fiat semper.” Sam spoke the words in a calm and even voice. He knelt in front of his brother, a hand resting on the back of Dean’s neck while the other traced binding sigils over Dean’s heart, throat and the center of his forehead in red wax pencil.

 

Dean twitched a little because the pencil thing tickled as it moved over his skin. At least he wasn't freezing out, thank God for small favors. He didn't say anything. He was done asking questions. This had already started and he couldn't put a stop to it even if he wanted to. He knew that Sam knew what he was doing, and although it still sent a shiver down his spine, his eyes remained on his brother.

 

Sam repeated the short incantation with each sigil he drew, binding Dean’s heart and mind to him and binding his voice from ever betraying him to another. The last sigil he drew went just below Dean’s belly button, over his center chakra, to bind his soul, mixing it with just enough of Sam’s to cement the binding.

 

When the last word left Sam’s lips, a soft glow exuded from the sigils, recognizing the magic and Sam’s claim of ownership. “All mine now,” he whispered and pressed a kiss to the center of Dean’s forehead.

 

Dean's skin pricked and warmed and he fell to the soft ground, unconscious.

 

Satisfaction spread over Sam’s face as he stared down at his brother’s unconscious form. “All mine now, Dean,” Sam crooned, stroking the backs of his knuckles over the side of Dean’s face. “You’ll never be able to leave me again, never be able to run off and fuck those trashy bitches again. Fuck, I own you now, baby.” He stood up and walked over to the idol, picked it up and hurled it at the ground, watching in satisfaction as it shattered into a thousand pieces. “Oops, now you can’t bind me to you, Dean. Such a pity. Oh well, we’ll just have to make do.”

 

Sam went back to his brother and hefted him up over his shoulder and started back towards the Impala, chuckling as one hand thoroughly mapped out the contours of Dean’s ass. “This will be mine, too, soon. But, I want you awake for that. I want you to beg me, plead for me to take you. And you will, because I want you to.”

 

Dean ended up laid out in the backseat of the Impala with Sam driving, whistling an off-key tune as he drove towards the nearest city. Dean would be waking up soon, and Sam wanted a front and center seat for the fireworks that were sure to go off.

 

~*~

 

_Dear God, no. Please, don’t… don’t let this be real. Sammy couldn’t do that to Dean, wouldn’t! He’s… he’s a good boy, he’s just… he’s just lost. Christ, how could this happen?_

_That bitch! That demon bitch, she did this, she perverted Sammy, changed him, made him into a monster. My son would never do this, not this. God, please, let Dean fight it. Dean! Fight it! Don’t—don’t give in. Dear God, son, don’t let this happen._

_Please, don’t let this happen._

 

~*~

 

Dean whimpered softly in his sleep. He was warm and comfortable. He’d been asleep since Sam finished the spell, which had been sometime the morning before. Dean's sleepy mind had no understanding of this, however, because though he was just waking up he realized just how good he felt. Hell was gone from his mind and he felt as if he had slept for three days on his own. Sam was on his mind. His brother seemed to be front and center all at once and though he was unsure why he smiled to himself. His eyes were still closed and he shifted in his sleep, trying to stretch out. 

 

He had the memory of Sam's hands running down his body, of his clothes being stripped off, and Sam’s hands then went…. Dean’s eyes opened and he moved to push himself up. His heart hammered in his chest and he wasn't sure why because his body was reacting to the images and that were…. Hell no. Dean rubbed his eyes and moved to get up.

 

“Where are you going?” Sam grumbled and tugged Dean back against his chest, clutching at him possessively. He was only half awake, but Dean moving from the bed, out of his arms, wasn’t something he was onboard with. Not just yet. “Just got to bed, jerk. Lemme sleep a little longer.”

 

Dean seemed to realize all at once that Sam was in the bed with him. "You need me in the bed with you?" he asked, but quickly lay back down and up against his brother. He didn't even realize that on a normal day he would have rolled his eyes and shoved Sam away. "Come on, let go. I have to take a piss." 

 

“Ugh, I hate you,” Sam muttered and reluctantly let Dean go, snuggling down into the nest of blankets. “Be quick about it, though. I’m still tired and I want you with me.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and moved to the bathroom, half confused by his brother’s tone and half expecting it. He wasn't sure why, actually. He finished in the bathroom and ran the cold water, rubbing it over his face as he thought back a minute. "Sam, why the fuck are we sharing a bed all of a sudden?" he asked, noticing only one in the room. They hadn't shared a bed since before Sam was in junior high.

 

Sam was silent for awhile and then the bed springs creaked as he got out of bed and padded over to the bathroom, leaning against the doorjamb. “I didn’t think about it, really. I just… I checked us into a room and put you to bed and then crawled in after you.” He feigned a worried look, dragging a bit of the emotion up so that Dean would feel it resonate within him. “I didn’t even think about it. It just… seemed right.”

 

Mixed feelings swirled deep in Dean's belly and it was met with the desire to leave. At the same time, though, he wanted very much to stay. He looked his brother over, the mistrust melting away as he took in his brother's eyes. "Um," he started, but stopped, unsure what he was going to disagree with when he opened his mouth, "You sleep. I think I've, um, had enough," he finished as he moved to slip out of the bathroom.

 

“Dude, I’m sorry. I just—it was an accident. I’ll go and get us another room, one with two beds. Don’t leave. Please, Dean, don’t leave me.” Real worry settled deep into Sam’s bones. He needed Dean to stay with him for at least the first three days to cement the binding, to make it permanent, and if Dean left it would ruin his carefully laid plan. “I swear, I’ll pay more attention. Just—don’t leave me.”

 

"I didn't say I was going anywhere," Dean answered as he sat down. "I just said I was done sleeping." He shrugged and his face flushed as another emotion took him over; desperation.

 

Sam didn’t seem reassured and hesitantly reached out, gripping Dean’s shoulder with one hand and heaving a heavy breath. He hung his head, mind whirling as he tried to think of a way to keep Dean around without tipping him off. “I know you, Dean. If I go back to sleep, you’re going to leave. You always leave when you freak out, even if it’s just for a few hours. Well, I’m freaked out, too, and the thought of you vanishing for hours is freaking me out even more.”

 

Dean cocked his head to the side and realized that his brother was really freaking out. It hit him hard. He shook his head and moved closer to his brother. "What do you want me to do, Sam?" he asked, almost like a puppy begging to please his master. "I'll do whatever you need, just tell me," he said softly, nuzzling his face against his brother's gently.

 

“Stay with me,” Sam whispered and wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in closer, face pressed into Dean’s neck. He released a shaky breath and let his eyes fall closed. It had been a near thing, chancing Dean leaving, but the need to keep Dean close, the urgency he felt to keep Dean with him, had overcome the chance of Dean running. Just as well; the idol had been smashed and even if it hadn’t beem convincing Dean to do the ceremony again would tip him off that something wasn’t right. “Just stay with me, Dean,” he finished in a small voice, playing up the desperate little brother routine.

 

Dean nodded his head but didn't say anything. Instead he was somehow comforted by Sam’s scent and the fact that his body relaxed into Dean's touch. He took a deep breath and his arms came up around Sam, holding onto him as he sighed softly. All of a sudden he needed to be with Sam more than he needed another breath. "Okay," he agreed. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam. I promise."

 

“Okay, okay,” Sam breathed, and swallowed a huge gulp of air. He squeezed Dean tighter and then sat back a bit, looking at his brother through sleep-tussled bangs. “Thank you, big brother.” It was sappy but felt like the right thing to say. Besides, he was supposed to be playing the sappy little brother card at the moment. It would go away once the binding settled.

 

Dean moved to lay back down with his brother. He turned onto his side and put an arm around Sam's waist as his brother settled as well. He was comfortable, more than he had been when he’d first woken up, though it had only been ten minutes beforehand. "Just sleep, Sammy," he murmured softly as he settled again himself.

 

~*~

 

_It’s started. Already, Dean is falling under Sam’s spell. It’s so wrong to see, to watch them, knowing that it’s all a lie on Sam’s part. He doesn’t—can’t—see that Sam is playing him, using his emotions against him. Hell, I know Sam’s lying and I almost fell for it, too. Dean’s got no chance of figuring this out, because the spell is tightening down on him, tying him closer to Sam, binding them together with every passing minute._

_If only I had been able to get Dean to leave. If Sam hadn’t woken up when he had, there’s no doubt in my mind that Dean would’ve realized and fled as fast as he could. Even just a few hours away from Sam would’ve done some good, wouldn’t it?_

_Jesus, and this is only the beginning._

 

~*~

 

It was made pretty clear over the last few days that they were going to stay in the motel room and it was all but driving Dean crazy. Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. Half the time Dean was going nuts and the other half was spent cuddled up with Sam, who seemed to be bipolar, or sleeping. Whatever Sam had done with the binding spell had completely wiped Dean out for the most part and all he wanted to do was sleep. Hell was only distant, blurred memories that he couldn’t quite grasp anymore and he didn't dream about it, couldn't feel guilt or shame. 

 

Dean seemed to be paying more and more to attention to Sam as the days went by. His heart pounded in his chest whenever Sam touched him and he nearly melted when he saw his brother smile. Though Sam's attention seemed elsewhere a lot of the time, Dean didn't really give it much thought. 

 

Sam wasn't just important to Dean anymore; he was more or less Dean’s sole reason for existing. It wasn't even sexual, it was just that Sam had to be okay, had to be happy and most importantly he had to be happy with Dean. If he wasn't—Dean didn't even want to entertain the notion. He rolled over on his side in the bed the two had been sharing, half awake now. He hadn’t had a hell-induced dream since the night Sam had bound them together, and what he did dream about wasn't at all bad.

 

The soft tap of Sam’s fingers over the laptop keys were the only sounds in the room. He sat in bed, on top of the covers, with his back to the headboard and the laptop on his lap. One hand rested lightly on Dean’s shoulder, thumb stroking the soft, sleep-warm skin while the other danced over the keys or manipulated the touchpad mouse.

 

For awhile, it seemed that Sam was content to let Dean laze in bed while he surfed the ‘net. But, all good things must come to an end; Sam closed the laptop with a quiet click and then set it off to the side. “Good morning, Dean,” Sam murmured quietly as he slid under the blankets and rolled over, spooned up against his big brother’s back, naked skin pressed to naked skin. “Are you ready for something new?”

 

Dean shifted a little and moved closer to Sam, not even thinking about what he was doing. He stretched a little before blinking green eyes open and he turned to look over his shoulder at Sam, confused. "New how, Sammy?" He was still tired and would have been fairly happy to roll back onto his stomach and pass out again.

 

“It’s been a week since you’ve gone out, and since before you went to hell that you got laid, so I was thinking we could take care of one of those two issues.” Sam curled his arm over Dean’s waist and pulled him snugly up against his chest, lining them up from knee to chest. Sam bumped his hips forward, pressing his arousal against Dean’s ass. “Let me take care of you, Dean,” he murmured into his brother’s ear, voice low and husky with desire.

 

Dean frowned and shook his head before pushing himself up on one elbow and frowning. "Sam, what the hell?" he asked. It startled him because Sam never joked like that, sent him running for the hills half the time any type of sex was brought up. "What a piss poor joke, man," he grunted before moving to get up, tugging at his brother’s arm to release him. His words weren't as nasty as they normally would have been. 

 

Sam, however, refused to let go of his brother, arm tightening down around Dean’s waist like an iron band. “I’m not joking,” he growled, sounding angrier than was warranted for the situation. “Don’t tell me that you don’t feel me, don’t feel like I’m the center of your world, because I feel it too. That spell bound us together, but I must have done something wrong because now I can’t… I can’t ignore how much I’ve wanted you anymore.” He buried his face in Dean’s neck, breathing hard and fast, mouthing at the sleep-warmed skin lazily. “Please, Dean. Please let me take care of you.”

 

Thoughts of sick and wrong didn't even enter Dean’s head because denying his brother was wrong: he felt it deep in his bones. When Sam's hands gripped him tighter, Dean shook his head and bit his bottom lip. The desire to please Sam was growing hotter in his stomach. Fighting it, as he had been seemed to become that much harder all of a sudden. "I take care of you," he grumbled. "Besides, it isn't… um…." He trailed off, the heavy gust of Sam’s breath over his skin scattering his thoughts.

 

“You do, Dean. You take such good care of me,” Sam cooed softly, voice tinged sly and manipulative. “You’ll help me while I’m helping you, Dean. This, this is just for us. No one else has to know, no one else gets to have you like this, just me, Dean. My Dean,” he breathed, hips rolling slowly against Dean’s backside, one hand sliding down slowly towards Dean’s dick. “Please, big brother, please let me make us both feel good.”

 

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head but his body moved back against Sam. He took in a sharp and quick breath. "Yours," he mumbled, though his tone was unsure whether it was a question or a statement.

 

Sam seemed to take that for permission and rolled so that Dean was on his belly with Sam slotted up against his back, thighs pushing Dean’s legs apart. With one hand, Sam scrabbled through the bedside drawer and came out with a small bottle of personal lubricant that looked about half gone. “All mine, Dean. All of you, every single inch, is mine, baby.” Sam nibbled on Dean’s left ear, body shifting and accommodating, pushing Dean’s legs further apart. 

 

The snick of the bottle opening was loud in the room, and a moment later there were slicked fingers sliding slippery down the crack of Dean’s ass. The fingers vanished and returned again, slicker, warmer, and one finger circled firmly at Dean’s entrance, massaging the muscle to make it loosen enough. 

 

Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to get away or not. His head battled back and forth between what he knew to be wrong and the need to please his brother. In the end, Sammy won out. Sammy always won. Dean moaned softly and pushed up and against his brother's fingers, face buried in the pillow. He gasped and his fingers tightened in the sheets below him, clamped his mouth shut. His dick hardened but his muscles fought against the fingers at first, his body tight and tense.

 

“Open for me, Dean,” Sam murmured and then pressed his finger in deep, dragged it back and pushed in again with two slicked fingers. “Don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if you don’t relax,” he whispered into Dean’s ear, scissoring his fingers apart, impatient.

 

Dean bit his bottom lip hard and his fingers dug into the sheets, white-knuckled. "Easy for you to say, asshole," he spit back. He'd never done this before so this was an all new playing field for him. His body fought hard against the fingers but he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and trying to force his body to relax and just accept Sam.

 

Sam rocked his fingers in and out, spread wide, until those tightly clamped muscles finally eased off, allowing Sam’s fingers to move easily. “Good boy,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the base of Dean’s neck, tongue swirling over the knob of his spine. “Just a little more, baby.” Another of Sam’s long fingers joined the other two, stuffing Dean’s ass.

 

Dean closed his eyes and made his body move back into the fingers because he knew that was what Sam wanted him to do. Sam wanted Dean to make this as easy as possible and not give him a hard time. Dean could feel that, somewhere in his belly he knew that was what Sam wanted. Dean shuddered at the feel of another finger and again at the praise. A soft gasp escaped his lips and the burn eased slightly.

 

The fingers vanished for a moment and then returned, slicker, pushing the cold lubricant into Dean’s ass, fingers riding him firmly. “So good for me, Dean.” Sam’s fingers fled again and then Sam shifted on the bed behind Dean, the wet slip-slap of lubricant smeared over Sam’s cock. “Ready for me?”

 

Dean pushed himself up to invite more of his brother in. He whimpered softly as the pain eased out and the fingers that had started feeling good were removed. "Whatever you want, Sam." 

 

A hard frown etched into Sam’s face; too much to expect his brother to be so far gone in the spell to beg the first time. Still, in retaliation for the lackluster response, Sam fit the head of his cock at Dean’s entrance and muscled his way in, shoving even through the iron-tight grip of seizing muscles. Dean would learn to ask and plead, even if it were for the pain to stop.

 

"Fuck!" Dean screamed, digging his hands into the sheets and trying to pull away from the pain. Dean had barely been prepared and he felt a wave of anger from his brother on top of everything else. "Sam, fuck that hurts!" he yelled, still twitching against the burn and sudden pain.

 

“What I want, Dean, is for you to want this,” Sam growled and clamped his hands on Dean’s shoulders, forcing them to the bed and holding them with his weight. “I want you to be a good little bitch and take it when I want to give it to you, beg me for it, plead for it.” He drew his hips back until the head tugged at Dean’s smarting rim, and then drove back inside, hard and fast, hips bouncing against Dean’s ass. 

 

The pain was so intense that Dean had to stifle a yell into the pillow. Tears stung his eyes. He whimpered but tried to remain as still as possible. "Ow, I'm sorry," he cried out. "Sam, please, take it easy, damn it." He forced his hips to remain as still as he could, suddenly desperate to make Sam happy, to give his brother everything he wanted.

 

Somewhat mollified, Sam slowed his pace, gentled his thrusts. It wasn’t much, but at least there wasn’t the worry of tearing or injury, though there was no doubt that Dean would be limping for the next few days. “Sorry, baby. I just…” Sam blew out a breath and draped himself over Dean’s back, arms wrapped around his brother’s middle. “It makes me crazy to think you don’t want me.”

 

A whimper worked out of Dean’s throat, more than grateful for the gentler pace. Dean pushed his legs further apart to make it easier for Sam and, with any luck, ease it for him a little more. His ass ached and the pleasure was pretty much gone for him, but he'd play whatever part Sam wanted him to play here. "I-I want y-you," he gasped. "I do, Sam, I swear to do, just want you to be happy. Always wanted you," he confessed.

 

Sam slid a hand down Dean’s belly, fondled his soft cock, and then gripped it in a tight fist. “Doesn’t feel like you want me, big brother,” Sam cooed, flicking his thumb over the sensitive head of Dean’s cock, his own buried deep in Dean’s body, unmoving. “But, we’ll fix that. Let me make it all better.” Sam’s hips rolled, shifted, and then skated over Dean’s prostate, a mean grin curling his lips, fist stroking his brother’s limp cock.

 

Dean screamed again but this time was due to pure pleasure. "Oh God, Sam," he moaned. The pleasure shot through him, down to toes and up to the tips of his hair. He pushed back, welcoming the same pleasure as his cock started to fill slowly in his brother's fist. It was an odd mixture of pain and pleasure, something that reminded him of hell, oddly enough. Pain had been what he was missing since he was pulled out. It was insane; he would know that if he wasn't so completely centered on Sam and where his hand was.

 

The arm banded around Dean’s middle forced him back into the steadily speeding thrusts. Sam’s breath fanned over Dean’s ear, fist stripping Dean’s cock roughly, just this side of pain. Sam had found his angle and mercilessly exploited it to his own advantage. He fucked Dean harder, assuring that he scraped over Dean’s prostate every other pass, and sped up his already quick strokes, encouraging Dean to finish so that he could have his own fun.

 

Dean pushed up and back as his cock drove down into Sam's hand. "Christ, S-Sam, gonna m-make me," he tried to warn but the words got swallowed. He never came so fast but he’d also never had someone fucking his ass before, either. He shoved his hips down further, Sam's breath teasing over his now moist and hot skin. Dean didn't know if he was in pain or not but he fucking loved it. His breath hitched, caught, and he came; thick, white streams of come covering Sam's fist and the bed under him.

 

“Yeah, that’s a good boy,” Sam purred in Dean’s ear, stroking and fucking him through his orgasm. “Now it’s my turn, baby.” Sam reared up, gripping Dean’s hips in both hands, and started hammering away at his brother, seeking his own orgasm.

 

Dean twitched and wiggled in pure pleasure, but he didn't focus on it to long because the hard, heavy cock pounding his ass drew his attention away. The burn spread through and it blended with pleasure each time Sam hit his prostate again. His cock was spent but the waves still hit him hard with each of his brother's movements. "God, Sammy, fuck me, harder, p-please," he begged, knowing it was what his Sam wanted to hear.

 

“Fuck yeah,” Sam growled, breath huffing from his lungs as he raced for his own orgasm, literally plowing his brother’s ass. It didn’t take long, couldn’t with how Dean was finally begging, and orgasm swept up, drew his balls up tight against his body and then left him in a rush, flooding Dean’s ass with his seed. Sam collapsed onto Dean’s back, gasping for breath, and clutching Dean to him. “Mine,” he heaved, blowing hard against the back of Dean’s neck. “All fucking mine.”

 

Dean moaned and finally relaxed when his brother collapsed on top of him. He took several deep breaths, his heart still pounding out of his chest. He opened his mouth to say something but he was tired and fucked out, a deep throb in his ass was starting to build and he merely nodded his head, at first unable to find his voice to agree. He grunted slightly but otherwise didn't move. "All yours, Sammy," he finally agreed in a whisper. "Only yours."

 

~*~

 

_Hell is a cake walk compared to watching your children commit incest. Repeatedly and with an ever increasing amount of violence. Not only does Sammy demand it and mete it out, but Dean—my sweet boy—he begs for it, looking as though Sam is his god come down to grace Dean’s lowly presence._

_How could this happen? I raised them to be better than this. Sam would never trust a demon, never use the powers given to him by the thing that had killed my beautiful Mary, never… abuse his brother the way he has been. If it weren’t for the anti-possession tattoo and no noticeable breaks in the pattern, I’d swear that he’s possessed._

_But, he’s not. Neither of them is. God, have I failed them so completely? Maybe if I’d let them be kids while they were kids, not pushed so hard, they wouldn’t have come to this. But, I can’t think that I raised them wrong. This had to be something that started after Sam left for school, this inability to see the danger when it’s right in front of them. Fuck, if only I could stop them, make them see that what they’re doing is wrong. I have to—I have to stop this before they get any worse._

_God, give me the strength to save them one last time._

 

~*~

 

Kittery, Maine was a coastal town, hopping with tourism; streets bustling at all hours of the day and night. They were in town on a case; seemed that an old fishing captain from back in the early 1900s couldn’t let his great, great, great granddaughter turn his home into a bed and breakfast. 

 

Sam got them holed up in a dingy motel room that used to be a premiere vacation spot before the bigger hotel chains moved in, hotels with fine dining and bellhops and easy access to the piers that jutted out into the bay. Their room was actually a suite which had a living area separate from the bedroom, complete with a couch that had seen better days and a television that wasn’t built before 1950, and a long coffee table where Sam immediately set up shop with his laptop.

 

Sam sat hunched over on the couch, elbows on his knees, laptop pulled to the edge of the coffee table, one hand flying over the keys as he ferreted out information on the sea captain, the other wrapped firmly around a leather strap which was attached to the heavy leather collar cinched around Dean’s neck. Sam had positioned Dean on the end of the coffee table, nude save for the collar, and only every so often dragged his eyes from the screen to look his brother over.

 

The collar and lead had been an addition that came nearly three months after he’d taken Dean that first time. There was no discussion, no questions; Sam had simply come into their room at the time and fastened the collar around Dean’s neck, leather cuffs around his wrists, and told him the rules: whenever they were alone in their room, Dean was to be naked and leashed to Sam’s side. There had been no protestations, no commentary from Dean other than a soft ‘Whatever you want, Sammy’, and that had been that.

 

Over the last months Dean had fallen into an oddly comfortable rhythm. He didn't know what Sam would think of next and he didn't care. It was just a simple matter of obeying whatever order Sam gave him and doing so willingly. He loved and adored Sam. There was nothing he wouldn't do for him, no action he wouldn't perform and no humiliation or pain he would not eagerly endure to hear and feel Sam's approval and praise. 

 

He sat without making any sounds, his head bowed and his hands used to brace himself against the table. He didn't move and he didn't look up, not until his brother told him to. He just waited, ignoring the stiffness in his back and shoulders from being left in the same position for such a long time. The collar was heavy around his neck and the cuffs tight around his wrists but none of that seemed to bother him. 

 

Things got more and more violent but Dean soaked it up, welcomed and even enjoyed every bit of it. Whatever Sam did, he did it while giving Dean his full attention. Dean made Sam happy and that was all that mattered.

 

Cold brushed over Sam’s face and he glanced up, looking distracted for a moment. “Dean, do you see a window open?” he asked, eyes once again on the screen. The air shimmered faintly behind Dean, cold sweeping up his back, down his shoulder, and then faded completely.

 

Dean looked up at Sam, confused, and then let his gaze travel around the room. Nothing looked out of place; windows closed and door firmly bolted. "No."

 

“Got a cold chill. Go put some clothes on. The last thing I need is you coming down with something while a murderous ghost tries to fuck up my world.” Sam’s eyes never left the computer screen. He grabbed a pencil and the sheets of paper he’d been jotting notes down on, and scribbled something else, some other fact.

 

Dean. Son, please, hear me! A hand settled on Dean’s shoulder, cold and lighter than smoke, but real and alive. Dean, you’ve got to stop this. God, please. I don’t know what else to do. Please, Dean!

 

Dean moved to get up but stopped suddenly. He blinked and looked over towards his right, his eyes moving from the floor, slowly rising to meet his father's pained expression and pleading eyes. A dark look fell over his face and green eyes quickly bled pitch black. 

 

A cold and evil smile spread across his features. The demon didn't say anything at first; it just let John look at him, horror bleeding over John Winchester’s face. "So, John, are we getting somewhere now?" it asked; its voice was all too recognizable to a soul who had been hearing it daily for well over hundred years.

 

The motel room bled into the smoky, fire and blood décor of Hell, and John almost sobbed in relief. It wasn’t too late; he could still save his boys. “Fuck you,” he growled, voice rough and ragged, as though he’d been screaming. And he had. He’d been screaming for months, begging his boys to wake up, to see what they were really doing, to change their ways.

 

The demon opened its mouth, an ear shattering roar erupting, filling the entirety of Hell, snapping every single demon’s attention, dragging attention to the clanging of a door opening. Chaos ensued; demons shoving and clawing their way to the slim opening, smoking out of hell in droves. John strained for the door, knowing that his sons were waiting, would need his help to finish Azazel, to keep them on the straight and narrow. 

 

With a mighty cry, flesh ripped and tore and thick hooks clanged into the chain rack as John tore himself down off of the rack. The demons were too busy clawing at each other to bother stopping him, to stop any of the souls that screamed for help. It only took several seconds for the wounds to heal, body to knit back into place, painful, yes, but only a short time. Soon, all of the pain would end; he could claw his way out, save his boys, and hopefully see Mary when his spirit finally went with the reaper. But, that would have to wait.

 

John elbowed his way through the legions of demons, shoving, kicking, clawing his way passed them, up, dirt under his nails, tree roots tearing at his hands and bare feet, his face. It went on for an eternity, howling demons shoving and cutting each other down, kicking them off the wall, smoking through the doorway, so far above them… and then clean air, Bobby and Ellen—God, it had been so long since he’d seen them!—and Sam and Dean, shoving the door to try and close it back up.

 

Everything blurred, felt too good to be out of the vile stench of Hell to pay too much attention to what was happening around him, and then Dean was flying, knocking into a headstone, just like in whatever the demons had been showing him, and he didn’t move so much as walk into being behind Azazel, Sammy pinned to a scrubby tree behind them, and grabbed Azazel, dragging that sick fuck out of his borrowed body.

 

Flung off and turned just in time to see it jump back in and get up; Dean fired the shot, the last bullet for that fucking gun, a hole opened up in Azazel’s heart, a smoking ruin and yellow lightening striking within the body, and the smoke seeped from the wound, the body hitting the ground with a lifeless thud.

 

And then, Dean and Sam could see him, were looking at him like they hadn’t seen him in ages, tears in their eyes which John couldn’t forget, couldn’t help but reciprocate. He smiled at them, patting Dean’s shoulder in silent ‘good-job-son’ and sharing a nod with Sammy. Something tugged at him, wanting him to step back, to go on to the next step, but John couldn’t do it. He glanced over his shoulder at Bobby, gave him a pleading look, and then refocused on Dean. “I’m gonna save you, son. The hellhounds won’t take you away, not if I have anything to say about it.”

 

~*~END~*~


End file.
